


Gutless

by saltandbyrne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Body Horror, Bottom Sam, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Codependency, Dark, Eating Disorders, Extremely Underage, Feminization, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jeffrey Dahmer - Freeform, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Rape Fantasy, Rimming, Rough Sex, Serial Killers, Shoplifting, Underage Sex, Watching Extreme Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 00:35:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5606992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandbyrne/pseuds/saltandbyrne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sticky fingers, that’s what Dean always calls him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gutless

**Author's Note:**

> Sam is 13, hopelessly obsessed with his brother, and muses on serial killers, cannibalism, rape porn, and other dark shit. This won't be for everyone.

 

Wisconsin looks just like everywhere else.

 

They cruise over the Illinois border with a quarter tank of gas and half a PBJ left in the car. Sam hasn’t showered in two days.

 

Wassau sounds like a noise an animal would make in another language, like how Eric Lopez had told him that chickens said “bawk bawk” in America but said “pio pio” in El Salvador. Eric with his Xerox-sleeved tapes of South American death metal had been Sam’s closest thing to a friend two schools ago. Sam doesn’t keep friends for long.

 

That had been Pennsylvania, which doesn’t really look that different from Wisconsin on a mid-May afternoon.

 

Sam’s thirteen now, a number for death metal and bad luck and neck tattoos.

 

Sam rolls down the window and tries to smell it, that something that’s got to be in the air. Suburban houses fly past, intersections dotted with gas stations and convenience stores and nothing he hasn’t seen a thousand times before.

 

There’s an itch along the seam of his jeans. Sam stares at the back of Dean’s head and rubs it with his palm.

 

~

 

Sticky fingers, that’s what Dean always calls him.

 

Sam leaves the next 7-11 with a sleeve of sour straws and a clamshell of Bic Daisy razors with no one the wiser.

 

~

 

“Hear it’s real nice here in the summer,” their Dad says, like they’ll make it that long or even worse, like they will.

 

Their room is small and there’s only one bed in it, until Sam’s toe scuffs against something springy under the ancient-looking twin.

 

A trundle.

 

Sam frowns and kicks it.

 

“Gonna shower,” Sam mutters to the disinterest of his family, his father’s genuine and Dean’s pointedly studied as he putters around the small kitchen.

 

“Then I’ll say goodnight. Gonna head out, go rustle up some old contacts.”

 

 _Old friends like Bud and Jack and Jim_ , Sam manages not to say. Dean gives him that look, like he can read Sam’s mind.

 

Dean still kissed him out behind the gas station one state south so Sam’s pretty sure he can’t.

 

Sam smiles.

 

“Goodnight, sir.”

 

It’s surly enough to be believable. Sam needs to keep the slouch in his shoulders or the pocket of his hoodie’s gonna bulge out too much.

 

The bathroom door locks and the mirror has those old vanity bulbs circling around it. Most of them even light up.

 

The toilet drowns out the sound of plastic crackling as Sam peels out a brand new razor, pink with a flower pattern. Sam tracks his thumb over the daisy bumps as he runs the water, hot.

 

He toes out of his shoes and shrugs off his hoodie as the room fogs up. The mirror dews up until Sam’s a boy-shaped swath, not that he’ll look until he’s done.

 

The tub’s deep but the rim is narrow. Sam makes do, and if there’s one thing he can do it’s bend.

 

The soap in their dopp kit lathers up good enough for most of him. Legs first, always, whiteout soap and pink plastic dragging up until those scritch-scratch spider hairs are gone.

 

He’d seen insects under a microscope in a science class five states down, where evolution was a pointed absence in his syllabus but excuses to pick apart living things were plentiful. All those little hairs, black and jagged and pointed at the ends, bristling out from flightless wings and plucked legs.

 

Sam rinses the razor, digging his thumb into the little flowers.

 

The shaving cream had been on a bad shelf for him to swipe. Dad won’t miss so little and soap never left him feeling right.

 

Lip bit between his teeth in concentration, Sam shaves himself bare by feel alone. He starts with his asshole, hard to get to and harder to shrug Dean off of if he nicks himself. He runs his blade under the tap after each swipe, swallowing as he watches every little bristle-black hair swim down the drain.

 

He’s got his dick stretched taut between his thumb and forefinger when the door thumps.

 

“Sammy, come on.”

 

“One, um, one minute.”

 

Swipe and rinse, one two three and he’s done. Bare. Smooth.

 

“Dad’s gone, Sammy.”

 

Sam’s towel swipes through the steam, leaving him a slash of mirror. Pink and shower-soft, he traces his fingers over his balls, back between his legs over the thing Dean’s banging on the door to get to.

 

“You gonna let me in?”

 

Sam slots his pretty pink razor at the back of a drawer before he flicks the lock open.

 

~

 

Sam has a friend.

 

Her name’s Kylie and she’s pretty good as far as fake flyaway friends go. She’s weird and smokes clove cigarettes but she dresses slutty so no one fucks with her too much.

 

“You know Wisconsin has more cannibal serial killers than any other state?”

 

It’s a good opening line.

 

They listen to Bikini Kill and smoke out her window. Kylie has a book about Ed Gein and it’s almost as worn as his Tuskaloosa Library edition of _Step Into My Parlor: The Chilling Story of Serial Killer Jeffrey Dahmer_.

 

“This is my favorite.”

 

She dials up the volume on Star-Bellied boy and asks her ceiling _why do I cry every time that I come_.

 

~

 

“So fucking pretty.”

 

Dean’s breath tickles over his skin.

 

“Show me all that pink, Sammy.”

 

Face on Dean’s bed and his knees digging into the trundle he’s slept on exactly once, Sam digs his fingers into his butt cheeks.

 

“Eat you out good, Sammy, lick that little hole nice and open for me.”

 

Dean’s tongue inside him is a heaven. Sam’ll never get enough of it, ever, wet and wriggling and hungry for the pink parts Sam shears so readily for him.

 

Drool snakes out of the corner of Sam’s mouth, soaking into Dean’s sheets like the load after load Sam’ll leak out before their Dad ever wakes up. Reruns of M*A*S*H trumpet from the living room, like anything could really silence the slack-jawed slurps of Dean looking for his tootsie roll center.

 

Sam doesn’t have to get wet like a girl. Dean does it for him.

 

“Open up for me, Sammy.”

 

Dean sneaks his fingers in, one by one, like Sam wouldn’t take him right now. Sam shifts, freeing one hand as Dean gets him finger-licking split, and fuck, Sam could bust a nut just like this. He spreads his legs, fingers skating past his knees on the way to his leaking dick. Sam frowns into the bed.

 

He’d missed a spot.

 

“Dean, come on.”

 

Sam hikes his ass up, lolling his head to side-eye up at his brother and spread his thighs.

 

“Fuck me, Dean, fuck me like this.”

 

Arms spread useless and thin over his head and Dean’s hands clasping over his kept-slim waist, Sam arches himself into pink prey and hides his stubble-flecked knee.

 

“You gonna let me in?” Dean hisses, smearing store-brand Vaseline Sam had pocketed outside Indianapolis.

 

Dean’s cockhead presses too fat against spit-fucked muscle but Sam lets him in.

 

 _Step into my parlor_.

 

~

 

Sam has a friend and her dad watches gay porn.

 

“I’ll show you.”

 

Kylie brings a box down from the top of his closet. Her parents have separate closets, to match their separate cars and separate liquor stashes and separate beds if Mr. Larson’s regular occupancy of the guest room is anything to go by.

 

Sam knows porn, maybe more than he really wants Kylie to know. This still looks like nasty stuff, black-gloved men who make his father look soft and kind in the face, leather that would look at home in a machine shop.

 

Sticky fingers. Sam goes home with two of meanest-looking in his backpack.

 

~

 

He’s always surprised more people don’t watch porn in the library.

 

It’s not like he can rent the porn, but it’s easy to reserve a documentary along with the little caddy for viewing and slip in his own tape.

 

All the spider-hairs on Sam’s neck stand up as Mr. Larson’s copy of _Pigs at the Trough II_ crackles over his borrowed headphones.

 

They call one of them the pig boy but these are all men, ham-fisted and hairy-assholed.

 

“Get all up in your guts.”

 

Sam bites his lip as the guy takes two cocks in his ass and barely blinks. Sam’s tucked curious fingers into his own fucked-out asshole, tried to pry it apart and see what always makes Dean moan like that when he pulls out.

 

What would Dean sound like if he looked like this guy?

 

The biggest one in the group calls himself Daddy and only uses the third-person. Daddy slips his whole fist inside and Sam’s mouth drops open.

 

“Fuck this ass inside out.”

 

And God, he does.

 

~

 

_Ah for thy fate, O shrill-voiced nightingale!_

_Some solace for thy woes did heaven afford,_

_Clothed thee with soft brown plumes, and life apart from wail –_

_But for my death is edged the double-biting sword!_

 

“Now, Cassandra here is referring to the terrible fate of Philomela. Does anyone know the myth of Procne and Philomela?”

 

Not that Sam would raise his hand if he did know the answer, but it’s a new one on him. His English class sits glassy-eyed.

 

“Procne and Philomela were sisters, princesses in fact. Procne was married to King Tereus of Thrace, but she found she was lonely at her new palace and begged her husband to have her sister Philomela brought to visit her. She’d just had a son and finally convinced Tereus to allow it. Procne was overjoyed to see her sister, but Tereus took one look at her and devised an evil plan.”

 

Mr. Flutie pauses for effect, one eyebrow cocked and his arms folded over his sweater-vest.

 

“Tereus lured Philomela to an abandoned cabin in an orchard, where he raped her and cut her tongue out to keep her from telling. He told Procne that her sister had been eaten by a bear, when he had in fact left her to die. Unable to give voice to her crime, Philomela wove a tapestry telling her tale. Some sources say a flock of birds delivered it to her sister, others that an old crone who lived in woods sought out Procne and delivered the devastating news.”

 

Sam leans forward on his desk, letting the points of his elbows dig into the scratched plywood top.

 

“One account tells of Procne, reunited with her sister as her heart raged against her husband. She turned to their son sleeping in his crib, and with her sister in her arms Procne said…”

 

Despite their best attempts to look bored, there’s a pregnant pause as Mr. Flutie draws out the moment.

 

“How like his father he looks.”

 

One girl gasps. Sam licks his lips.

 

“That night, Procne watched as her husband ate a hearty dinner, a hunter’s stew. As Tereus wiped the last of his meal from his lips, Philomela stepped forward from the shadows, the severed head of his son in her hand and a smile of victory on her lips. Procne took her place beside her sister and said…”

 

A chorus of _Noooos_ rustles through the classroom.

 

“Tell me, husband, did you enjoy your dinner?”

 

Sam grins.

 

“Realizing what he’s just done, Tereus goes mad and chases after Procne and Philomela. The gods take pity on them and transform Philomela into a nightingale, while Procne becomes a swallow.”

 

 _Swallow it, Sammy, all of it_. Dean’s hands are on him like an echo, big palm on the back of Sam’s head, rough thumb scraping along the slope of Sam’s jaw. Sam’s ten and his father is in the next room eating dinner and Sam has never been happier.

 

“Wait, so she killed her own baby?”

 

Mary Haskins wears a cross every day and doesn’t have holes pierced in her ears. Kylie fucking hates her.

 

“That doesn’t make any sense. Why would God take pity on a couple of baby eaters?”

 

“Well, first of all, Miss Haskins, Procne and Philomela didn’t eat the baby, they just killed him. Second, the Greeks and their _gods_ held that the bond between siblings was the strongest bond of all, stronger even than that between a parent and a child. Siblings share full blood, and blood trumps everything.”

 

Sam slots his fingers over the pulse in his neck and sighs.

 

~

 

Dean has girls in every town.

  
  
Girls he takes to the movies while Sam tags along, girls with younger sisters for Sam to hang out with and pools in their backyards for him to swim on, girls John snorts at and rolls his eyes.

  
  
Dean likes B names, Brendas and Britneys and Beccas and Brees, these second letter ghost girls that leave their Sam-shaped mouths all over Dean's neck.

  
  
Sam sucks hard, flesh rolled up between his teeth and how hard would it really be to bite, to taste some new part of Dean that their father will swallow with bemused pride.

  
"Shit, Sammy, gonna make me come too soon."

  
  
Dean's on a date with Beth tonight, Yes sir I'll take Sam with me, he can hang out with her little brother.

  
  
The car's gonna stink like sex and their Dad will just chuckle to himself.  Poor Beth.

  
  
The hand Sam braces on the headrest smells like Vaseline and his ass and Dean's come dripping frothy out of him, because the fastest way to get Dean to punch in for round two is to watch Sam get those sticky fingers inside himself.  
  
~  
  
"Swallow that baby batter, bitch."

  
  
Mr. Larson likes some hard shit. _Str8 Rape Vol. 7_ makes his stomach turn over and his dick leak enough he's worried it'll show through his jeans.

  
  
Sam likes it too but at least he doesn't have a wife.  
  
~  
  
Mrs. Larson has the insatiable thinness of a woman who overfeeds her children.

  
  
Sam won't let himself eat more than this sandwich today but at least it's delicious.

  
  
"You know Ed cut off his victims' pussies and pickled them?"

  
  
They're on a first name basis with Ed and John and Ted and Jeffrey now.

  
  
"For a snack."

  
  
She crunches a pickle between her teeth for emphasis. Her lips are a deep wine red, tinged almost blue in the half light of her living room. It's a new shade of lipstick that had cost her twenty bucks at the mall.

  
  
Sam'll steal it before they skip town.  
  
~  
  
"The average male ejaculate contains over two hundred million sperm."

  
  
Mr. Foerth placidly ignores the boys' snickers.

  
  
"And each one of them will fight to get to the egg first. The first one to penetrate the protective coating around the egg wins the battle, as the others are blocked out by the egg's natural defenses."

  
  
Mr. Foerth has the pursed lips of a flockless pastor.

  
  
"So many lives lost just to inseminate one little egg. Remember, class, life begins at conception. The miracle of life is a precious gift."

  
  
Mary Haskins touches a beige nail to the cross around her neck.

  
  
"And what's the only proven way to prevent pregnancy?"

  
  
"Abstinence until marriage," the class bleats.

  
  
Rory Baldwin is bolder than the rest. When Mr. Foerth turns his back he hollers out "make her swallow" to the delight of his classmates.

  
  
Sam shifts in his seat, letting himself rub bare and smooth against his underwear.

  
  
He and Dean have been baby eaters for years.  
  
~  
  
"I'd kill them."

 

Dad’s out and Beth is getting frisky tonight.

 

“Who’re you killing, Sammy?”

 

Dean’s lazy-happy, head tucked askew on his pillow and his legs splayed out. The rise and swell of his chest against Sam’s is warm and steady as Sam nip-kisses along the pulse in Dean’s throat, licks over the purple hearts Sam’s decorated him with. How much tom catting does their father think Dean can do?

 

“All those girls.”

 

There’s a warmth to Dean, who can stand outside in a workshirt and barely shiver while Sam shoves his miserable hands deep into his pockets. Dean, radiant, shimmering, easy bright Dean, he’d probably spill sunshine if Sam ripped into his throat.

 

“Sam, you know there’s no-”

 

“I’d find them, cut off every part of them that got to touch you.”

 

That spot behind Dean’s ear is his favorite. Sam kitten licks at it until Dean starts to shiver.

 

“S’fucked up, Sam.”

 

Sam had sucked him off backed up against the front door. He licks at the little cereal-bowl smear on his lip before he teases it into Dean’s mouth.

 

“Wanna come on your cock, Dean.”

 

Sam wriggles down to backhand Dean’s cockhead against the fingerwarm furl of his asshole. He’s tight, tight and snug and tucked inside. He’s not ruined on the outside like Mr. Larson’s pig boy.

 

“Let me get it wet.”

 

Not yet at least.

 

“Not too much, ok?”

 

Dean slicks him inside and sinks dry fuck tight into him.

 

“So fucking good for me, Sammy.”

 

“Say it?” Sam begs against his ear, whisper soft.

 

“Little cunt feels so tight, baby.”

 

Sam could have a cabin full of pickled girl parts if he picked off all the invisible pussy he’s impersonated.

 

“Harder, Dean.”

 

Sam is fucked up but Dean’ll still fuck him twice before their father staggers in with a belly full of cheap booze.  
  
~  
  
When asked why he ate his victims, Dahmer's response was always consistent.

  
  
"I didn't want them to leave."  
  
~  
  
Dean doesn't take it in the ass and Sam doesn't want him to, but sometimes Sam's spit-slip fingers circling around his asshole make him fuck Sam's face harder.

  
  
Sam barfed once, early on when he didn't know to clamp it down and breathe through his cut-off nose, _swallow swallow swallow_ until tears stream down his face and Dean says his name like a curse word.

  
  
Sam doesn't eat that much any more.

  
  
Dean's dick gets wet just like Sam's does, precome oozing from the slit onto the hungry sharp note of Sam's tongue. Dean came once already and the brute hit of his cock against Sam's throat jostles it out of him, hack cough spill out of Sam's fresh fucked ass.

  
  
Dean's cock tastes like sugar drip and Sam's insides.

  
  
Kylie calls it giving a hummer, still quaintly Midwestern under her Kurt Cobain shrine and ostentatious self-injury.

  
  
_I want to drink the honey blood_ Sam hums.

  
  
Sam's finger presses spider-silent against Dean's asshole and Sam could slip it inside if he wanted, get his fingers up inside his brother and see if he's pussy pink and petal soft on the inside like Sam is.

  
  
Sam snort-chokes when Dean comes too far back his throat. It burns out his nose but Sam snuffs it back wet and ugly as Dean licks rabidly at his lips. _Swallow it, Sammy, all of it._

  
  
Maybe Sam's just white on the inside.

 

~

 

The TV in Kylie’s basement has a pixeled-out splotch in the upper left corner.

 

“You should read the books.”

 

Kylie grunts, her eyes never leaving the screen.

 

“This is the best part.”

 

 _Goodbye Horses_ titters out of the speakers as Buffalo Bill tucks his junk between his legs and twirls around in his moth-eaten kimono.

 

Kylie bounces off the old corduroy couch and starts to dance along, the hem of her babydoll dress fluttering around her expertly-torn fishnets.

 

“I’d fuck me,” they say in unison, and Sam lets himself laugh.

 

~

 

Beth's going to the movies tonight.

  
  
Dean's got those popcorn-butter lips flush against Sam's ass, tongue fucking him like they've got all night. The car's gonna smell like low tide by the time they get home.

  
  
"Want you," Sam sighs into the leather, breath condensing to tug wet at his cheek as he turns to catch the silhouette of Dean’s hair riding over the slope of Sam backside.

  
  
"Want you to fuck me like I'm some slutty girl."

  
  
His pants are somewhere in the footwell when Sam clambers around spider limbed into Dean's lap. He hadn't worn underwear.

  
  
"Fuck me raw like, like some townie skank you'll never see again."

  
  
Sam grinds himself against the seam-busting bulge of Dean's cock, locked away from him like some tongueless sister.

  
  
"Be a good girl for you, Dean, be so good."

  
  
Denim chafes on the split of Sam's spit-wet thighs and Sam grins like he's got blood on his teeth. Dean flesh-sizzle hisses against his neck. Dean’s been giving in to this since he was Sam’s age, their _ur_ -sin of Sam's little body rubbing up against hardness he shouldn't know. Dean’s fist clenches.

  
  
"You feel that, sweetheart, feel how fucking hard you get me?"

 

Dean circle-spans the cut of Sam’s waist and grinds him down. His teeth always gleam in lamplight and the back of the Big Lots is no exception.

 

“Ate that little pussy out good, didn’t I?”

 

“Do I,” Sam swallows thick, his legs going jelly-thick and jittery as Dean slots his cock against Sam’s ass like a threat.

 

“Do I taste good?”

 

Dean licks filthy into him, so far from a kiss it makes Sam shake all over. Sam opens peepshow wide, spit and that murky boyfuck taste smearing into him and God, maybe they could just swallow each other whole like this.

 

“Ever been fucked?”

 

Sam’s been taking it since his cock twitched out see-through tears of ghost jizz. Sam still doesn’t come like Dean can, thick and white but Dean says Sam’s tastes better. Sam tries to twitch virgin-new and gunshy against Dean’s hands.

 

“It, no, I’ve never, oh.”

 

Dean hefts him up with one hand biting into his waist and tugs his fly open with the other. Zipper scrapes over Sam’s skin and Dean looks at him the whole time, half-lidded with that glint of danger Sam lives for.

 

“Only fair you put out.”

 

Dean could make him take it. Sam can fight dirty but Dean’s still stronger, strong enough to wrench Sam’s legs open and force his way in.

 

“We shouldn’t-”

 

“Don’t worry, darlin’, I’m clean.”

_No you’re not._

 

Dean’s knuckles brush up against Sam’s balls but then he’s deep inside and Sam can be anything he wants.

 

“Give it up easy for a good girl.”

 

 _He’s making some kind of girl-suit._ Sam bites his lip Starling shy and tries not to writhe his little slutboy body too much.

 

“Let me see those little tits.”

 

It was Dean’s shirt before it was Sam’s. Sam inches it up before Dean grabs the collar and tugs it off.

 

“Play with ‘em for me.”

 

Sam grabs at his little nothing chest and comes all over himself.

  
~  
  
Dad got fucked up and met the wrong end of a wall.

  
  
Dad's bleeding everywhere.

  
  
Sam stitches him up because he's the one around and Dad’s still too goddamn drunk to do it himself.

  
  
Dad’s banging some lonely hearts nurse across town and he has real stitches this time, black silk thread and that weird half moon needle that rolls in Sam's fingers.

  
  
If Sam laid out all the thread he's stitched into this family he'd have one hell of a tapestry to show to the birds.

 

~

 

Talking about Dracula’s weird when you know vampires are real.

 

“Impaling is fucking sick,” sick being Kylie’s highest superlative.

 

Her room smells like church incense.

 

“He’d put his enemies on these long poles, but like, they were round at the end so they’d just go up through their guts and stick out of their mouths without tearing anything.”

 

Smoke billows out the window and these fucking Djarums are tearing his lungs up.

 

“You know people can live up to three days after being impaled?”

 

Sam’s elbow nudges her tacked-up tapestry outside as he exhales. Mr. Larson’s car is in the driveway and Mr. Larson is in the basement and maybe Sam’ll sneak down there one day and look for the really good shit he has to be hiding.

 

“You’d probably die of dehydration first.”

 

Sam’s mouth is still wet as he imagines Dean all up in his guts, cock splitting blunt out of his mouth. He could last longer than three days.

 

 

~

 

Jeffrey Dahmer made love to his victims’ viscera.

 

Sam’s hand is shower-soap-slippery and what was that like, fucking people parts in some grand guignol rental bathtub. What’s it like to fuck something ever-wet and slick, something you don’t have to scoop out of a dime-store tub of fake girl juice.

 

Maybe if he wrings himself out enough times he’ll be soft when Dean fucks him.

 

In a smeared-clear patch of mirror, Sam clenches his thighs together and runs his hand over the smooth nothing between his legs.

 

~

 

Class starts at 8:17 AM and at 7:52 Sam tells Dean to pull the car over.

 

“Sam, you’ve got-”

 

Sam’s out of the car before Dean can say _school_.

 

Tucked in a bend in the road with two farm plots touching tips, it’s hardly private but Sam had staked it out. They won’t get caught. Maybe.

 

Dean’s head see-saws between the empty road and Sam flinging the backseat door open. He doesn’t look away with Sam single-hand pops his jeans open.

 

“Sammy.”

 

Sam bends over, pants rucked down to fuck-me height and a travel-size Vaseline in his hand. That one had been easy to steal.

 

Dean works his lips when he’s nervous and he could eat them off by the time he groans himself out of the driver’s seat and over to Sam’s hitched-up ass. Shaking and lick-lipped, Dean still catches when Sam chucks him the jelly.

 

“You don’t have to, I,”

 

Sam’s got one foot on the ground and one slut-kneed up onto the backseat.

 

“I got myself ready before we left.”

 

He tugs, sticky fingers showing Dean where he’s shiny.

 

“Sam, fucking Christ.”

 

Eagle eyes on the road, Dean’s fingers still tap against his belt.

 

“I just, please, Dean.”

 

Sam begs, pretty on the inside and pretty from the back.

 

“I want you inside me all day.”

 

Dean makes a cauterized sound between his teeth.

 

“Yeah, fuck, Sammy.”

 

Buckle and slick and Dean’s pressing inside him, that fat cockhead pop bursting behind his eyes.

 

Sam’s not ready. A few slick fingers inside himself left him slippery but he’s still tight, fighting every inch of blister burn as Dean drives into him.

 

It’s so good.

 

“God, _Sam_.”

 

Dean knows what too-tight feels like and he still doesn’t stop and Sam could gnash that part of Dean between his teeth until he starves to death.

 

“Gonna get me fucking locked up, that what you want?”

 

“Want you to hurry the fuck up and come inside me.”

 

Sam’s teeth click together when Dean slams into him.

 

“You’re a fucking bitch, you know that Sam?”

 

 _Come on try to shut me up_ bubbles up giddy in Sam’s chest but he just moans.

 

“Drive me fucking crazy, walk around all day leaking come like some dirty little slut for me.”

 

Sam hiccups his name before Dean hikes his leg up and pulls him back cock-deep.

 

“Fucking load you up good, Sammy.”

 

They don’t talk the rest of the way to school but they’re both smiling.

 

 

~

 

The last video he lifted from Mr. Larson’s stash had some frat boy with frosted hair and a backwards baseball hat getting gangbanged by his frat brothers until he’d sobbed and oozed out pink-tinged streaks from his fist-wide asshole. Sam licks around the ache inside him all day, Dean-shaped and kiss it better sore. He’ll be sweet for Dean tonight, good blush-cheeked penance for all his theft.

 

Maybe one day he could drive Dean crazy enough, get those lock pick fingers deep enough into Dean’s heart to fuck his baby brother till he bleeds.

 

~

 

They leave in the middle of June, one week before school ends and two weeks after Sam had stopped shaving his legs. Some things are too hard to hide.

 

Sam runs a thumb over Kylie’s tube of Urban Decay Oil Slick. She’d given him her Ed Gein book but he’d still taken her lipstick and a trio of her dad’s movies.

 

Wisconsin looks like anywhere else and Ohio probably won’t be much different. Dad hums along to Bob Dylan and Dean hands him a Culver’s butter burger from the front seat.

 

At least Dean had promised to steal him some fireworks this year.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Hole's Gutless. Bits from that, Pretty on the Inside, and Star Bellied Boy by Bikini Kill sprinkled throughout, along with some Silence of the Lamb references and a quote from Agamemnon by Aeschylus for good measure.
> 
> [Tumblr post here!](http://saltandbyrnefic.tumblr.com/post/136421497314/gutless-sticky-fingers-thats-what-dean-always)


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